


A Resource

by Lacunan_Trooper_Arkfall



Series: Ultima Shimizu [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-04
Updated: 2020-07-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25061629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lacunan_Trooper_Arkfall/pseuds/Lacunan_Trooper_Arkfall
Series: Ultima Shimizu [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816402





	A Resource

A Resource

* * *

Ultima Shimizu marches crisply into the classroom, Tzion hot on her heels. Upon approaching the center of the room, she pivots and snaps to attention a respectful distance behind the podium. Tzion follows suit, sitting just to the left of her. Pale emerald eyes scan the room, alert and sharpened to a laser focus. The rest of her face is hard, jaw set and neck taut, ever stoic. Upon reaching Ilasha, Ultima’s features soften for the briefest of moments, a ghost of a smile dusting her tawny lips; Ilasha smiles back. Then the gaze returns to its vigilant scanning.

Ilasha takes the opportunity to study Ultima’s appearance. Posture tall and rigid, she stands proudly in her navy-blue uniform, hands folded behind her back. Chest poised, Ilasha can see the rainbow of medals pinned to her uniform, the light glinting off the gold. The golden pelican emblem of the 204th Marine Regiment is pinned proudly above the rest of the medals, its features harrowed and metal scarred. Two golden aiguillettes begin from her right shoulder and connect to the emblem and her sternum. Dark gold buttons textured with tiny crisscrosses line her navy-blue coat, leading down to matching navy-blue pants. The pants are crisply creased, the scuffed black shoes polished. Bringing her purple eyes back up, Ilasha spies a lopsided navy-blue side cap resting atop Ultima’s head. Her pink hair is combed out of her face, but tipped hair still arcs out from beneath the hat, curves over her ears, and gently tickles the hard muscles of her neck.

_She looks rather handsome in her uniform,_ Ilasha realizes.

“Good morning class!” the military history professor calls from the door, breaking through Ilasha’s thoughts. “Good morning, Lieutenant Shimizu,” he says to Ultima, shaking her hand. “It’s a pleasure to have you here,” he says, smiling. Ultima takes it and shakes firmly.

“It’s a pleasure to be here, sir,” Ultima replies, a polite smile on her lips. Ilasha strains to hear Ultima’s soft voice over the din of the classroom.

Ilasha watches as the professor walks over to the podium. “Settle down class, settle down.” Her fellow students finish their conversations and turn their attention to the professor. “Now,” he begins, “today we are blessed to have Lieutenant Ultima Shimizu of the 204th Marine Regiment to share some of her experiences from the war.” He turns to Ultima. “Lieutenant Shimizu,” he backs up and gestures towards the podium with a smile, “You have the stage.”

“Thank you, sir,” Ultima says politely, respectfully nodding to the professor as she steps forward, Tzion by her side. “Good morning,” she says, addressing the class. Her voice is low but holds a quiet power that fills the room. “I am Lieutenant Ultima Shimizu and, as Professor Zaci mentioned, I am here to share some of my experiences from the 204thMarine Regiment. I—” Ultima pauses, eyeing a raised hand. “Yes, sir?”

The pale hand falls. “How many kills do you have?”

“Brok!” someone scolds.

Ultima blinks. Her emerald eyes look to the horizon but maintain a sense of intent focus as they dart from side to side. She stays that way for several moments. Ilasha is worried that they have lost her when Ultima blinks again and refocuses on Brok.

“2,746 kills, sir.” Her voice is calm and calculated, like that of soldier offering a status report. “Probably more, but those are the ones I remember.”

For once, the morbidly blood-thirsty student seems humbled.

“Monster,” someone murmurs.

Ilasha glares at the student— Ellie is her name.

Ultima merely shifts her gaze to regard Ellie coolly, if not a bit sadly. “I did what I had to for the sake of my comrades’ lives and for the sake of your colonies, ma’am” she answers softly.

“ _Our_ colonies?” another student asks. “Aren’t they your colonies too?”

Ultima’s pale emerald eyes slide to that student. He shivers under the cold gaze.

“No, sir. _Your_ colonies.” Ultima’s gaze shifts to the horizon. Ilasha’s almost sure she can see fiery ruin in Ultima’s eyes. “ _My_ colony was Harvest.”

_Oh, Ultima,_ Ilasha thinks sympathetically. Harvest was the last colony to fall to Earth’s glassing some seven years ago. By the time that the Seventh and Eighth fleet arrived, there was barely anyone left to save.

Ultima blinks again, then shifts her gaze back to previous student who had called her _monster._ “Afterall,” she says, a lopsided grin on her lips, “What place do monsters have in your colonies?”

* * *

A silent hush falls upon the class. Ultima stiffens, her gaze becoming a little more wary. _Silence is never good,_ Ilasha thinks. _Neither for civilians nor soldiers._

Luckily, Professor Zaci breaks the uneasy silence. “Now, now, class. Lieutenant Shimizu is our honored guest. Please treat her with the same level of respect as you would treat me.” He turns to Ultima. “Lieutenant, why don’t you tell us about Operation Zaba?”

Ultima blinks, the sounds of ghosts ringing in her ears. The cries of pain, the cries of fear, the cries for mother.

Ultima shivers then blinks. “Where would you like to begin, sir?”

* * *

_The drop pod jolts._

_“We’ve entered the atmosphere,” someone announces._

_“I hate atmo-landings,” someone whines._

_“I know, I know,” comforts a marine._

_Someone coughs. More jolting._

_Suddenly, everyone is thrown to the side as the pod tilts dangerously on its side. A deafening explosion sounds right outside the pod._ Can’t be more than a few meters, _Ultima muses. Shrapnel patters against the pod’s hull like rain. Someone moans._

_“Incoming fire!” yells the pilot. The chaplain begins praying softly._

_“Sit tight, everybody; we’ll be down there shortly,” Captain Joziah comforts, patting some shoulders as he makes his way through the pod._

_A light activates, bathing the interior of the pod in red light._

_“Red Light!”_

_Everyone starts checking their weapons. Ultima cocks her pistol and stows it, then checks that her rifle’s muzzle is properly attached._

_“Anyone got a flash?” Connor asks._

_“Ja. Catch!”_

_“Much obliged,” Connor says jokingly._

_A few nervous chuckles escape into the room._

_“Ultima, your comm’s got static.”_

_“Got it,” she replies, knocking some sense into her helmet with an open palm._

_Another horrible jolt shakes the pod, this time accompanied with the sound of shrieking metal._

_“We’re hit! Everyone! Brace for a hard landing!”_

_The red light starts flashing, signifying imminent landing. Soldiers grab handle holds. Someone starts sobbing quietly._

_A booming crash. The pod shakes violently. Beams fall and light fixtures spark. Someone screams in pain. “_ Contact!” _The pod rolls on its rim then settles. Bullets sound against the hull like furious hail._

_Green light now bathes the interior._

_“Green Light!” Soldiers stiffen._

_The pod’s doors open painfully slow, the mechanisms groaning and sparking. Daylight blinds them, then fades._

_Then it is upon them, and them upon it._

* * *

“Do you have any photos or something of the landings?” a student asks, lowering his hand. “It would be nice to see something besides the propaganda pictures.”

Ultima shakes her head, lips pursed. “No, sir. I’m not authorized to give civilians military photography,” she explains.

“Oh,” the student says dejectedly.

Ultima frowns, her eyes narrow then widen. Ultima snaps her head towards the professor. “Is there a chalkboard or something I can draw on?” Ultima asks eagerly.

The professor nods. “Yes, the whiteboard,” he answers, gesturing to the board behind a table covered with stacks of papers.

Ultima wheels a whiteboard aside to reveal a clean one beneath. Grabbing a dry marker, she uncaps it with her mouth while examining her canvas.

Ultima blinks. Then begins.

Her arm moves in controlled precision at a furious tempo. The constraining outline of a helmet. The odd symbols of a heads-up display. A slanted rectangle. Then the interior of a box. Sparks fly from warped metal and hanging cables. Then a hand— a bloody hand jutting out at an odd angle, leaning against a fallen metal beam. Then blood spraying in the air. Smashed skulls and broken bones. Then faces— faces full of fear, faces covered in blood, faces with dead eyes.

_The interior of a ruined drop pod,_ Ilasha realizes. During the Assault of Earth, drop pods were used to drop the 32nd Division in from orbit.

Then comes the outside. In the distance, over the heads of soldiers clambering over each other, machinegun nests spew fire and metal. Bullets ricochet. Rising above the horizon of the city is the outline of the New Mombasa space elevator. Iconic skyscrapers jut up towards the sky like dangerous jaws. Orbital Defense Mass Drivers (“ODMDs— pronounced _Odd M.D.s,”_ Ultima explains) flare as they fling speeding projectiles into the heavens.

Debris catches Ilasha’s eye. A broken drop pod streaming through the sky, trailing fragments of armor, smashes off the side of a skyscraper. Shattered glass falls down into the city, dipping below the city’s horizon and disappearing out of sight. The drop pod’s side looks burnt and worn, while its heat shield looks relatively clean. _Must’ve been knocked off its center during entry,_ Ilasha thinks solemnly. _And its descent harness looks all messed up._ It’s true, the aerodynamic paneling that double as drag fins are broken, some bent at odd angels and others dented and not opening. The descent harness, which constitutes of the scaffolding attached to the inner layer of the pod, is all battered and bent, its tanks punctured and venting propellant, the few remaining operational thrusters desperately trying to right the pod.

An officer points sharply to the outside, the words _GO, GO, GO!_ on his lips. Brave soldiers rush out of the pod, only to be shot down.

Ultima moves away from her piece, turning back to face the class. “This is what I remember a few seconds after our pod’s doors opened.”

The class study the piece in morbid wonder.

* * *

“You okay?” Ilasha asks sweetly as classmates swarm the door.

Ultima smiles weakly at her and sighs. “I’m Oscar Mike, ma’am.”

“Huh?”

Ultima chuckles. “I’m good, ma’am.”

Ilasha smiles. “Good.”

They held each other’s gaze for a long moment before Ultima blinks and turns to the whiteboard.

“I guess I should erase this,” Ultima murmurs, examining her drawings. Ilasha hums in question. Ultima begins wiping the dry marker away with a rag ashen with previous creations. Ilasha watches as Ultima systematically rubs the rag back and forth, starting from the left corner and making her way to the bottom right corner. Something about her movements is soothing to Ilasha. When Ultima sidesteps and begins swiping through the upper corner of her painting, however, Ilasha has to intervene.

“Stop!” she exclaims, resting her hand over Ultima’s.

Ultima looks at Ilasha’s hand gently resting on her own, then down at Ilasha. “Ma’am?” she questions, confusion evident on her face.

“You don’t want to destroy your art,” Ilasha explains softly. Her voice takes on a sadder tone. “Right?”

Ultima contemplates that for a moment. “It’s all in my head, ma’am. I can repaint it when I get home if you want,” she offers.

“But then it won’t be original!” Ilasha exclaims. “It’s… it’s part of you, right?” Ilasha asks, peering intently into Ultima’s eyes. “Right?” Hope trembles in her voice. “You don’t want to destroy something you poured your soul into, do you?”

Ultima blinks. _Soul…_ she thinks longingly. She blinks again. “Ma’am, it’s just a copy of my memory. There’s no soul in it. Its purpose was to illustrate the landing zone for the class, and it has fulfilled its purpose. Now I am destroying it to make room for the board’s next purpose.”

Ilasha bites the bottom of her lip and looks away. “…I guess…” she concedes weakly.

Ultima returns to erasing the painting. Something hurts inside her chest when she erases Connor’s dying face. Ultima brushes it off.

“I’m sorry you had to go through that,” Ilasha says softly, her vision blurry.

Ultima pauses, staring blankly at Joziah’s broken body. “Just focus on living freely, ma’am,” she answers gently. In the peripheral of her vision, Ilasha looks up at her. “That’s all we could have ever hoped for,” she adds somberly, turning her head to look at Ilasha. Tears pool at the bottom of her dark purple eyes. Ultima hopes that Ilasha won’t cry. It’s easier to ignore the pain when you’re the only one feeling it. Ilasha bites the bottom of her dark maroon lips and nods. Ultima smiles weakly, then returns to her destruction. Heat stings her emerald eyes.


End file.
